We're separate, two ghosts in one mirror,
No mirror...
Later on, if it turns to chaos,
Hurricane coming all around us,
See the crack, pull you back from the window, you stay low,
Say when...
from "Say When" by the Fray
"Rule one," he reminds her, closing the door behind him, "is never resist."
He approaches slowly, his lips spreading slowly across his teeth in an attempt at a grin, her stomach turning, the scream in the back of her mind drowned out by his laughter, he puts his mouth against hers—
She wakes suddenly, the image of his menacing grin tattooed into her sight, so that even when awake she's dreaming, the nightmare never ending.
"Ziva?" questions a voice near the door in an undertone, and she remembers that she's been staying with Tony.
"I am fine," she says, pre-empting his question. She sits up, leaning against the headboard. "Go back to bed."
"You were screaming," he says quietly.
She nods, since she's not really surprised—this is the third time this week she's done so. "I am sorry for waking you."
"Ziva," he says with a sigh. He looks her over then, choosing not to finish his statement, he crosses the room and sits next to her.
"You do not have to stay tonight," she says without meeting his eyes. "I will be alright."
"It's fine, Ziv," he answers. He puts an arm around her and she tries to relax into his touch.
His mouth is everywhere, his hands are everywhere, touching her, always frantic, always excited, always too ready—
Automatically, she shudders, and he pulls his mouth away from her breast.
"Rule number one," he reminds her again, and his mouth clamps down too hard on her neck, roaming downward again, she can't move, barely breathes, can't resist, can't resist—
She sits up, pulling away from him, and scoots to the edge of the bed, breathing too hard for not doing anything.
"Ziv?" questions Tony.
He stands and walks around to the other side of the bed. She looks down at his feet, too afraid to see him, to let herself be seen. "You should go back to bed," she says.
He hesitates, then pulls her chin upward, not allowing her to back away.
"Ziva," he says quietly. "I'm not leaving you."
She nods, she knows, he wouldn't leave her. He strokes her hair and she stands, allowing him to hold her and, for once, feeling calm.
He pulls away and she looks up, questioning. Before he can stop himself, his lips are against hers, gently, and his hands aren't roaming and he isn't frantic, and then he separates from her and meets her eyes.
She can see the look in his eyes, the fire, and she's terrified, and then nothing—
Rule number one, she reminds herself.
And he kisses her again.
Can't resist, his ragged breathing in her ear as he pushes against her, inside her, touching her again and again until fire burns within and she can't remember if that's good or bad...
A moment's rest while he recovers, and she breathes again, embarrassed at her own shaking and then she realizes she doesn't know why she is.
He meets her eyes and she looks away, and then she remembers rule number one—
"No resistance," he says angrily, and he slaps her across the face, pushes her against the wall—
He places a hand on the back of her neck, then runs it up through her hair, sending a shiver down her spine. He repeats the motion, digging his fingers into the skin below her skull, reveling in the feeling of the goosebumps he's creating, lowering his lips to hers again—
And then he feels the scar.
And then everything falls into place.
He pulls back, stops. Looks her in the eyes and can feel the question in his own. "He..." He can't form the words, can't even fathom the idea. "He...he cut you?"
She tries not to let the tears form in her eyes but she can feel them coming, can't stop them.
His breath is sickly sweet and tangy, and she can tell he's had a Caf-Pow, but she can't think about that, too many other things—
He brandishes a knife and she wonders why he hasn't tried this before—a fleeting thought, a passing idea—
"What else, Ziv?" he asks. His voice sounds strangled and far away, and she cannot tell him, she will not tell him, he would never understand. She closes her eyes and waits for him to lash out. Instead he puts his hands on her shoulders, desperate for answers. "What else did he do?"
She is surprised when he doesn't use it on her right away, instead drawing out the process, moving slowly in and out until he can't stand himself, refusing to let her win, he touches her neck and she shivers—
He places the metal against the back of head.
He shakes his head, steps away from her. Tries desperately to control the anger that makes him want to exact revenge on the bastard who made her suffer until he understands just how much he hurt her.
He cries out and throws a punch randomly, realizing too late he's broken through the drywall.
The pain never manifests and she wonders how long she's been numb before he leans into her again—
"Only he will ever know," he says, and she can hear the laughter in his voice, can see it in his eyes—
And then she feels the pain.
Her eyes fill with tears she can't let him see and the overwhelming feeling that she isn't good enough becomes her. She shakes her head, trying to clear her senses, but she can't fight it. She steps hurriedly into the bathroom—
And he realizes what he's done as he hears the sound of her retching, over and over again until he thinks he could go mad from the sound, until it's etched itself into a memory he'll never be able to overturn.
She finally stops, and he quietly steps to the doorway and freezes.
Because she's frozen, too. She doesn't meet his eyes because she's too embarrassed, because she knows he'll walk out the door and never come back. Fighting more tears, she reaches and pulls the lever.
He still hasn't moved, hasn't spoken. He watches her unbroken, and she keeps breaking, waiting for him to respond, somehow.
Finally, he sucks in a deep breath. "Did he..." He struggles with the word, knowing of his own unsensitivity but being unable to do anything about it. "Did he rape you?"
She meets his eyes now but can't form a response. She swallows painfully.
"Rule number one," she says, her voice hardly more than a croak. "Never resist."
He touches her again, sharply and suddenly, and then walks out, leaving the cut on her neck throbbing painfully.
She collapses to her knees, her tears unhindered, and wonders where the hell she went wrong.
He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breathes. Finally he moves, falling to his knees and sitting beside her.
He opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to form a proper response, until he sighs and looks away. "I'm so sorry," he says.
She shakes her head. "It is not your crime."
"I thought... I thought you didn't care. I thought you had moved on." He purses his lips. "It is my crime, not fighting for you."
She stands and, after wobbling a small bit, finds her balance. She splashes water on her face, wiping away her evidence, and turns to face him. "There was nothing you could have done."
He meets her eyes, wanting to fight, but he can't. After a moment, she turns, and they return to the bed, Tony wrapping his arms around her. A few minutes pass in silence, then she turns to him.
"Thank you for being here," she says.
He tries to find a response, but can't, instead kissing her forehead and closing his eyes again.
Her nightmares are gone, at least for the night.
His have just begun.
A/N: Hm. Quite an ending there, which hints at more to come... which there probably is.
For those reading Dear Death: I am SO sorry for the delay. My muse has completely left me =/ I tend to write better when I can stay up all hours of the night, and with school that's impossible. Fortunately, Thanksgiving break is next week, so I should have another chapter up soon. Thanks for sticking with it.